Coldhearted
by feeltheRUSH
Summary: Set during Humanity. Cameron learns that Artemis is at Belle Reve.


_Set during Humanity. Cameron catches on that Artemis is at Belle Reve._

_Since Terrors, I got attached. Then, when I started RPing him, I just love Icy Jr. So then, I started thinking about what happened to him after the failed escape from Belle Reve. When the Team made a trip to Belle Reve in the latest episode, this plot bunny was born. WARNING. I get inspiration to write at God awful times in the morning. Like. 11pm - 6am is my prime fic writing time. Please excuse any grammar mistakes. Or spelling mistakes. Or horrible writing in general. HA. Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Coldhearted<strong>

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><p>Sulking. He's becoming all too well acquainted with the verb.<p>

He's vaguely aware of Tommy sliding in the seat across from him; he's too busy drowning in self-pity and loathing to really _care_. But then, he thinks, quelling the urge to glare at the Terror Twin- who, is in fact, the true specimen of Southern grown aggression and pride- maybe he oughta start paying more attention. In case someone _else_ tries to pull a fast one on him. Cameron Mahkent uses his plastic spork to push around the peas on his plate. He's not hungry. Again.

His tablemate, on the other hand, is already scarfing down the tasteless sludge Belle Reve's stuffing down their throats.

And all Cameron can do is sulk.

"Yeh gonna eat that there, Popsicle?" Tommy asks, his thick fingers already closing around Cameron's bread roll.

The young ice villain says nothing, eyes blurry and distant. He barely registers the renewed ripping and chewing coming from Tommy. He honestly doesn't care. Screw food. Screw Tommy. Screw everything.

Over the past few weeks, the younger Mahkent has been acting out of character. Instead of instructing Tommy (for the technical second time) on the ins and outs of Belle Reve, Cameron spent the majority of his time wedged in the corner on his top bunk, face buried in his arms or sitting dejectedly alone in the rec room.

It's more of a defense mechanism than anything. If he stops reacting, maybe they'll all forget that he was played by a sixteen week old clone with a phony accent. Ughnnnn. He rubs his temples with his free hand, desperately trying to halt the merciless memories of those disastrous few days. He squints down at his soggy peas in unabashed hatred.

"I beg your pardon… Unhand me!"

Cameron's eyes lift from his tray, landing on the source of the cry, curiosity stirring despite his resolve to be stoic.

Ivo- stubby, techy with a superiority complex- is getting carried away. Like lifted under the armpits, dragged off Big Brother style. A lot of the the other cons jump to their feet, shouting and heckling the circle of guards transporting the short Professor. The guards respond with their own catcalls and threats, jerking the muzzles of their rifles around for emphasis. The guards and the convicts love sneering at each other. It is such a nice atmosphere, here at Belle Reve.

"Where are you taking me?" Ivo demands, ready to summon a tornado of blustery disdain.

"The Warden's said you got a meeting with some very _important_ visitors," one of the guards responds loudly, probably overblowing the situation to scare the reluctant professor into cooperation. And Ivo appears to settle down a bit, walking with less drag in his step. "Probably here to gloat 'bout their recent dismantlin' of your hyped up Easy-Bake Oven." The guard is pushing at the right buttons, eliciting a scowl from the aged, little man.

Tommy reaches across the table and punches Cameron in the arm. The blow doesn't hurt (_much_), considering Tommy doesn't have his superstrength at the moment, but Cameron still jumps, recoiling away like a spooked animal. The Terror ignores Cameron's little upstart and jabs a thumb at Ivo. "Whatcha reckon that's all about?"

Snorting softly, a glimmer rekindles in Cameron's eye. He's a natural informant with a dash charisma. And plus all this time spent wallowing in silence makes him all the more inclined to talk when prompted. "The Warden doesn't just let _anyone _waltz off to meet with outsiders," Cameron begins, lowering his eyes to his plate again, concealing his enthusiasm, the rush he gets from knowing- and sharing. "He wants to keep our communication with any _possible_ exterior connections cut off. So he reserves visitation privileges for interrogations from the League, mostly." Cupping his chin with a thin hand, Cameron raises his gaze again, a little unnerved to find Tommy giving him his full attention. At the same time, he feels uplifted by Tommy's interest, and the junior ice villain continues, "_He_-" Cameron tilts his head at Ivo and company, "-will probably end up talking to Black Canary or, if he's _really _unlucky, the Bat." The teenager doesn't bother with pseudo concern, relishing the fact that someone _else _was getting into trouble around here. Drumming his fingers along his steep jawline, Cameron speculates aloud, brow furrowing. "Dunno what he could've possibly done. AMAZO's been disassembled, if my intel's correct- which, it most likely is. And Ivo definitely didn't play a significant part in the escape…" he trails off, feeling uncomfortable and weighted again. Any reminder of his glaring fail drops him back into a sullen mood.

Glancing at Tommy, Cameron knows he's been rambling by the slightly glazed look the Terror is giving him.

Sighing, Cameron shrugs his thin shoulders, dismissing the topic and hunching back down over his meal. Precisely when did it get so hard to communicate with people? Then again- Cameron thought moodily- this Tommy was a lot more brawn than brain. Steering thought away from the _other_ Tommy, he began reminiscing on the good old days. Good old friends. His_ best_ friend…

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><p>Professor Ivo stumbles back into the rec room, straightening the collar of his jumpsuit and muttering mutinously.<p>

"What happened?" Cameron finds himself unable to halt the question tumbling from his mouth.

The older man is ruffled, but he manages to throw a decently condescending look toward the ice villain. "And _why_ should I tell you?"

Cameron senses there's a jab coming- relating to his failure to detect Superboy's deception, no doubt (_that's the only subject they can come up with_)- so he cuts in quickly. "I work in the barber's this week. Sneak you some electronics to tinker with?"

That catches Ivo's attention; the teen knows the professor could craft some nasty stuff with a_ blender_. And electric shaver is in the hands of the evil genius' is as dangerous as handing a toddler a fork next to an electrical outlet: a recipe for disaster. Or undisaster (_aster?_), depending on how one looks at it.

Since Cameron definitely doesn't have the means to blackmail the pompous scientist, he had to make a bid for Ivo's favor. And the man seems to liken to the idea of converting usually docile electric shavers into… tiny death rays or something. The stout man beckons Cameron closer, casting a casual look around to assure himself they weren't being actively monitored. Cameron leans in, pressing his lips together.

"A group of brats came poking around for information on Thomas," Ivo says quietly, while still maintaining that snobbish air. "Your friend, the Superboy, was among them," the professor smirks, watching Cameron's face twist into a sour grimace at the mention of fake-Tommy. "Plus the usual gang, the Boy Blunder, Flash Boy," the man ticked off the names in a bored tone, "the Martian girl, Aqualad, the archer, and…" Ivo's face mirror's Cameron's dark expression, "some new girl. I don't know her name." The professor sounded bitter coated with a thin layer of nonchalance.

Cameron, however, isn't interested in the new girl. He just zeroes in on one aspect of the mechanic's narrative. "Archer?" he repeats, hastily concluding that Ivo was talking about _her._ Ivo had enough entanglements with Black Canary to be familiar with Green Arrow and Speedy, leaving the identity of the mystery archer to be…

"'Artemis was _here?_" Cameron blurts, unable to contain himself. He skips being embarrassed, settling on a comfortable mix sounding outraged and slightly strangled.

Ivo raises his graying brows at the outburst, but decides it's better off not knowing. "_Still_ here, I'd wager. Strange wants to reassure _them_ another attempted breakout won't be happenin,g what with all the _increased_ security in a _maximum_ security prison," he commented dryly. Cameron's eyes noticeably gleam at the news, and he's assaulted by the distinct need to get away. If there's any chance at all, she'd- _they'd_ pass the observation window in the south wall of both the male and the female rec rooms. He needed to get there_ now_. But Ivo wasn't entirely finished yet, and added with another belittling sneer, "but with you among us, why bother with increased security? I'm sure you're quite capable of sabotaging any new plan your fa-"

"Look at the time," Cameron interrupts, his tone flat and arms crossing. Was he ever going to live that down? (_… Probably not_.) Even if Ivo wasn't busting open a barrel of snide remarks, Cameron is itching to get away. "I have to go… change my feet," he excuses himself lamely, shuffling away from the professor. Toward the observation window.

"Wait! When can I expect the delivery?" Ivo calls out after the ice villain, clasping his hands together, frowning.

The junior villain keeps walking, picking up the pace, resisting the urge to break out into an all out sprint. He couldn't miss her. Not for anything.

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><p>Pressing his hands against the glass, he stares upward. The smooth surface beneath his fingertips is pleasantly chilly, and behind the tinted pane, he can make out an elevated hallway. He knew it was a hallway specifically designed to showcase Belle Reve's impressive collection of super criminals and metavillains. Inspectors, politicians, and investors could parade through the hall and peer in dimly at the inmates, like they were animals. It irks Cameron, but after a while, like most of the cons here, he learned to just ignore the observation window.<p>

Straining his ears, he hears it. Them. _Her._

First it was footsteps. A clatter of muddled footwear hitting the metallic tiling of the penitentiary.

Then, it was a lone unintelligible sentence, muffled by the thick glass.

The sentence was answered by a voice.

Cameron feels his breath slow to a standstill. The drawl, the rough edge, the sarcastic inflection; the voice is so achingly familiar that he is smiling unconsciously… But less than a second later, he tells himself not to get too worked up. It could just sound like her. It might not actually _be_ her.

"_Yeah, because we _totally_ didn't just witness actual magic, Baywatch. _Again._"_

Frankly, he doesn't care who Baywatch is. Or what magic occurred. It just matters that the conversation continues, drawing closer. Impatience roils in his stomach, waiting, waiting, waiting.

"_I'm just saying, it was probably hypnosis. Fast acting hypnosis."_

He's all but pressing his nose against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse before the group marches past. From his current angle, it's hard to see through the glare of the glass and up the outside corridor. But he deciphers a flicker of movement. His hands are flat against the glass, leaving smudges.

A uniformed officer is in the lead, both hands gripping a hefty rifle. Getting a no-nonsense glare from the guard, Cameron backs away from the glass. Too often he's seen convicts get buzzed for little more than back-talking. And the last thing he wants is to accidentally provoke the guard and subsequently get fried in front of… whoever the guard was leading. (_dont get your hopes up, dont get your hopes up_) The first thing he wants, is to see her. It's pathetic to admit it, but it's completely true. His eyes shine with bright anticipation; it's the most expressive thing he has done for weeks. Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, his keen gaze travels down the line of costumed heroes. They're all teens. Definitely not the Justice League. That sense of anticipation sharpens.

Following after the guard is Robin- easy to recognize from newspaper articles and the evening news- engaging in a lively conversation with the girl beside him. She was not blonde, thus, not what Cameron's looking for. His icy blue eyes slid to the next person striding down the hallway. At first, he thinks its just one underaged superspeedster- Kid Flash is examining the rec room through the glass with an amused smirk- walking down the aisle. These figures don't warrant much consideration in his mind. He could review them later.

Then he spots it, beyond the speedster. A telltale mane of blonde hair, done up in a low ponytail. _Artemis._

Disregarding Aqualad, _Superboy_ and _Miss Martian_- the caboose of this train of mini-Leaguers- Cameron stares earnestly at passing archer, willing her to look this way, even as she is nearing the edge of his line of sight.

"_That was so asterous, Zatanna!"_ Robin. Unimportant.

"_Not that I am unhappy with the results of the interrogation, but now… I cannot shelve the question. What are the scope of Zatanna's powers?" _Aqualad. Yet again, unimportant.

Cameron is waiting for her rebuttal. She never loses arguments easily.

"_Please, Freckles. You're telling me, that after _two_ encounters with Dr. Fate and watching Zatanna and Zatara, you _still_ have doubts?"_

A grin stretches across his face, warm nostalgia blossoming in his chest. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling for a moment. Years had passed, and from a few moments, she seems just the same- if not for the hero garb. But surely there's an explanation. An explanation that could wait. He doesn't care to hear it at the moment. He opens his crystal blue eyes.

Artemis is looking at him. And his heart is skidding to a halt. Taking a few timid steps forward, Cameron lifts a pale hand in greeting. Her dark grey eyes widen a fraction, recognition flashing loud and clear. Then her eyes narrow. Her gaze moves away from him, firmly planting themselves on the speedster.

She refuses to look back at him. And soon, she, and the rest of her team, are out of sight, their voices fading off.

He leans against the cool glass, staring after her, one hand balling into a fist, lips tightening into a thin line.

Cameron Mahkent has been sulking.

Now, he is just raging.


End file.
